“And, you know: come up and play one song. Not our thing. We weren’t real tight with The Band, anyway, man. Danko was great fun, real solid cat, and Levon was always a hoot. Loved their records, but you know: we didn’t hang out with ’em.”

You were on the road.

“Right, man. Barely got time for your rhythm section, let alone another band. Played with ’em at Watkins Glen, but they weren’t really jammers, y’know? They just played their songs real good, which is just as valid as our way, I suppose.”

You’re a reasonable man.

“I’m dead: it’s easy.”

Sure.

“Although, they used to wear those little suits, right? Remember Big Pink? Those suits? They used to wear ’em onstage. Looked like fancylads.”

They weren’t manly suits, no.

“Plus, you know…promise you won’t tell anybody I said this?”

Sure. Why not.

“We were better than everybody there.”

Neil Young, Dylan, Muddy Waters?

“Maybe not Muddy, but: yeah.”

Better than Van Morrison?

“In so many ways.”

…

Yeah, I guess.

“You see what I’m saying.”

I do.

“Also, when we played Winterland, we took up all the dressing rooms; they wanted to give us one dressing room for everybody.”

That wouldn’t work.

“Yeah, man. Dead rolls deep.”

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I’ve always wondered, given the locale and the fact that Graham ran the show, why even one member of the Dead didn’t turn up for the big closing jamboree the way Ringo and Ronnie Wood kinda pop up to hum along for the last number. Kinda liked to imagine that they sent Keith down from Marin and he never made it past the nose room.